


Could Never Say No

by rainbowstrlght



Series: Could Never [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Food Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chubby!Spock loves food, has issues, and Kirk cheers him up about not being able to fit into his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Never Say No

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend who wanted Chubby!Spock. WE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE ADORABLE.

The rich velvet of the cheesecake hit the tip of his tongue, and Spock hummed – the spoon gliding further into his mouth, cupping in the concave the sweet dessert and flesh, and feeling completely forbidden.

It was _exquisite_. A sensation Spock had become addicted to over the years when Vulcans were supposed to know how to cope, but Spock could not.

It had started with his mother – “comfort food” was as ingrained in the human psyche as Surakian principles to Vulcans. This concept that food could touch emotion, nostalgia, and soothe metaphorical wounds were passed down to him, starting at his earliest memories. He can remember being two years of age, and his mother offering a cookie fresh-baked from the oven – soft, crumbly, melting in his mouth.

Spock liked things that melted the best. They disappeared quickly, as if they could never be found. He could devour the baked goods and then go back to his life; secretly satiated where real Vulcans would not be concerned.

Vulcans fueled the body, and nothing more.  No one was concerned with the notion of taste – although taste could be acknowledged as stimulating the mind. It was more about nutrients and health benefits, things that contributed to Vulcan longevity and a vibrant mind.

Spock was _ashamed_. His human half seemed unable to realize these attributes, unable to stop himself from reaching for baked goods at an alarming rate. And worst of all, they brought him perverse pleasure that nothing else seemed able to duplicate.

In his youth, his peers had criticized him on a daily basis. In his adulthood, stress and pressure from proving himself caused him to feel the same need for escape. It all lead back to the same memory: His mother, those afternoons and evenings after school, bringing him sweets in the only way she could show love and that Spock would accept it.

Sarek had not approved when his weight had shown the effects of this love. His peers had used it as another excuse to taunt him. But over the years Spock produced a system to deal with these effects – a constant monitoring of weight, exercise that compensated, and a reasonable margin of which he could allow sweets to affect him.

Unlike other members of his race, his face was round and soft at the edges. No sharp angles, or a straight-backed posture equivalent to a pillar. Instead, Spock was… _soft_. As Nyota had described him, he was _comfortable_. The most noticeable in his middle, which always had five kilograms and sometimes fluctuated to 10 - straining against the waistband of his trousers, showing a slight bulge under his uniform.

At the academy he had needed the respect of his students, and was stimulated enough to remain at the low end of his weight – his time for social eating diminishing, but surrounded by bright minds he rarely noticed.

But the effects of Vulcan and his mother were different. It was equivalent to his first year as a cadet – instead of the occasional indulgence, it was a nightly ritual that had extended over the last few months on the Enterprise. He could acknowledge… grief. As a cadet, it had been homesickness. As an adult, it had been a loss like no other.

With that acknowledgement, he knew that he was unconsciously channeling his mother in food.

The spoon hit the bottom of the bowl, and all his nerves were alight with the sugar. In front of him was the PADD he had supposed to have been reading – the latest reports on Vulcan II, and the colonization efforts there. Instead, almost unconsciously, he had ordered strawberry cheesecake from the synthesizer – and then vanilla cheesecake, and then chocolate. The graham cracker crust so reminiscent of what his mother would make, and sticking to the corners of his mouth.

The only issue was that Spock was pushing 10 extra kilograms – and honestly more, in that now the waistband bit into his flesh as he sat; the fastenings straining to contain him. He had not needed that cheesecake – he had needed to ease his stress in the gymnasium.

He would start on a regimen tomorrow. Spock looked down at the hem of his uniform shirt, seeing it ride up over the bulge of his stomach, and knew that the damage was done. Self-flagellating recourse was senseless when calories were already gained.

Spock sucked in a breath, his muscles barely helping matters in appearing slimmer. There had been no comments from the crew, but the good doctor had noticed and offered a word anyway. “While you’re passing your physicals, I don’t know how you expect to fit into a standard space suit at this rate. Don’t make me program the computer to monitor your diet Spock, when I know damn well that Vulcans can do it perfectly on their own.”

Fortunately at that moment Jim had stepped into the room, and Spock had avoided making excuses. He would have had none – and thus the only shallow comfort in these months would have disappeared from his life all too quickly.

Although if McCoy had followed through in his line of questioning, perhaps Spock’s measurements would not have needed modifying tomorrow.

Spock set aside the PADD, intending to discard his uncomfortable garments for something less restricting, when the door chimed. And with it, Spock sucked in his abdomen – there was only one person that called at this hour, and Jim did not need to see the effects of his binge.

“Come,” Spock said, and in strolled Jim – black undershirt and trousers, skimming a trim physique that Spock admired, perhaps coveted if he were honest.

“Hey, Spock – sorry if I disturbed you.” Jim walked over to his desk, his own PADD in hand. “But I just read the reports on the colony, and wanted to know what you thought.”

Spock regulated his breathing, trying to speak around his lungs straining to hold in his gut.

“I have not yet perused them.”

Jim cocked his head, looking between the desk and Spock. “Huh. I know you’ve got a lot of work to do – just surprised that I beat you to it.”

Spock watched as Jim leaned against the corner of his desk, long legs and torso stretched out as Jim thumbed through his own PADD. It was undeniably alluring – a sentiment shared among most on the Enterprise, that Jim was indeed attractive. So attractive, that he could have anyone he wanted.

“Here – it says, ‘Vulcan II would like to extend a cultural exchange that would spread awareness of Vulcan, and also share experiences and ideas with other societies.’” Jim looked up, holding the PADD out. “I guess I wondered if you wanted to participate. We could take a few Science Academy members on some diplomatic missions, or something.”

Spock swallowed as Jim placed the PADD on the desk, accidentally jarring two bowls. “Oops - um, anyway, let me know. I bet Pike would clear it, and I think it would be interesting.”

Spock couldn’t even nod. In the three seconds it had taken for Jim to walk into his room, Spock had used none of them to clean his desk – the evidence of his binge clear as day, exposed.

“Hey – Spock? Spock? You okay?”

He calmly tried to glide over, taking several of the bowls in hand. “I will peruse the reports, but on the outset it seems amenable.”

Jim was silent, and Spock could feel eyes on him as he emptied the bowls into the recycler. When he turned around Jim only had a cautious look; one that Spock usually seized on in missions, but was inconvenient now.

Spock tried for parade rest, straightening his posture. But what only happened was the inevitable, the most devastating – as his arms reached back, the fasteners on his pants gave way; the zip audible as flesh parted the opening and hung out, pushing up the hem of his shirt.

 _Mortification_. Few things made Spock seriously consider jumping out of an airlock, but having Jim Kirk notice his added weight had suddenly reached the top of that list.

The silence only added to this; his dignity slipping and disintegrating as the seconds passed. But after 27 seconds of Jim looking him up and down, Spock could barely think of anything worse.

Until Jim Kirk _laughed_.

“Spock, did you just – did it, um – “ Kirk laughed again, scratching the back of his head. “Well, my shit shrinks at the cleaners all the time, it happens.”

Spock knew the location of the nearest airlock was only 20 meters – if only he could get Captain Kirk to depart from his quarters.

“Indeed. If you would excuse me, I was preparing for – “ Spock looked down and tried to cinch the fastener together to cover himself, but could not; his fingers slipping and caressing pale flesh, adding to spectacle.

Spock tried to gather his wits to say sternly _If you would leave_ , but instead looked up to see an extraordinary sight: Jim Kirk could not stop watching him. And even more perplexing, it was not a look of disgust.

Jim swallowed, a small smile on his face. “Spock, there’s no need to be – “

“I am in need of repose, if you would – “

“- Embarrassed.”

Spock watched as Jim walked slowly towards him, head ducked to meet his gaze. “So you grew out of your uniform – so what?  Have a new one made, no big deal.”

Spock looked away, unable to bear it. “It is not a simple matter of out-growing, but rather… discipline.”

“You mean there are no chubby Vulcans?”

It stung, but as Spock looked back he was startled to see the blue eyes so close, watching his expression as he crowded Spock in.

Spock took a deep breath. “No, there is not.”

For some reason that caused Jim to smile – and then a hand to rest lightly on Spock’s shoulder, smoothing down his arm. “Then I guess I’m lucky to meet this one.”

Spock couldn’t help it. “’Lucky’?” The stinging was worse – what was so fortunate about being an oddity and an outcast, especially for an obvious lack of control in his health?

But Jim only let his hand slide to the elbow, before it ghosted above his waist. “Yeah. I mean – “ Jim looked sheepish. “Fuck, okay, I’m gonna just say it – I think you’re attractive.”

Jim drew his hand away quickly, as if he expected Spock to hit him. But instead the words flitted in Spock’s brain, unable to form coherence.

He frowned, feeling his eyebrows scrunch on his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”

But as he said it, Spock did a glance of his own – and noticed Jim’s slacks left nothing to the imagination, the tent obvious but also perplexing.

Jim gulped. “I’m sorry, I know it’s inappropriate, but – “

“You are aroused by my weight.”

Jim looked wide-eyed a moment, leaning back, but then seemed to regain his senses enough to whisper, “Yeah – yeah, I guess I do.”

The words hung in the air, as Spock’s fingers ceased their attempts and left his stomach exposed. He stared at Jim Kirk, stared at him critically, and could only come to one conclusion:

He was _sincere_.

“Spock,” Jim said softly, moving forward. “It’s not just that. You could be 90 pounds, or a chick, or an Andorian – and I’d still think you were hot.”

Their faces were close now, and Jim’s hands hovered above Spock’s waist. “I’m attracted to _you_ , as a person, and so – “ Jim lightly caressed a bulge and whispered in his ear, “this is just icing on the cake.”

Spock turned his head just so, and their lips met – so sweet, so warm. Spock’s heart pounding beneath Jim’s hands as he kept caressing, and a tongue deepened their kiss and coaxed a low moan.

Jim breathed heavy at that, his hands moving forward to caress more flesh. And the more Jim caressed, the harder Spock felt himself become – his body being handled so gently with desire, making Spock feel comfortable and less prohibited.

Spock’s hands roamed and slipped under Jim’s shirt, the feel of toned muscle making Spock have an urgency that tore a groan from his throat. And with that, Jim seemed to snap – mouth on Spock’s neck as they barreled backwards, both falling into the wall as Jim tugged down Spock’s pants.

“God – _God_.” And when Jim gripped Spock’s cock and stroked upwards, all thoughts flew from Spock’s mind, giving in to the pleasure as it coiled and heated his inner core.

Their mouths clashed urgently, and Spock ripped opening the fastenings of Jim’s pants to touch him, _feel_ him – Jim moaning as his cock fell on Spock’s stomach, and Spock stroked him against his bulging flesh.

“Spock, Spock, _Spock_ – turn around. God, please turn around.”

Spock twisted and felt himself smacked against the wall, his legs parting willingly as Jim pushed down his pants and groped him. Fingers prodded and pinched flesh as they made their way to his hole, and he could feel Jim’s cock slide against his ass; hips canting with the sensation.

Jim’s breath hitched, with a hand gripping the flesh at his hips. “God, I’m gonna come just _touching_ you.”

Spock reached down and grabbed his own cock, stroking fast as Jim’s sounds increased and became more desperate. He was writing against Spock’s back, cock between the flesh of his ass, and grabbing mounds of skin that bounced and slapped with their movements.

Spock felt his mouth go wide with an intense orgasm – leaning back into Jim who sucked a shoulder as he came moments later. He grabbed Spock to him, and then they both fell into the wall; knees buckling from the intensity and almost giving out.

Legs folded and they slid to the ground, falling on each other as the world disintegrated, then slowly pieced back together.

Spock’s mind could barely keep up: He had _never_ been touched like that. Reverently, with desire – with that much _need_.

Jim made a noise, and his head jerked up to meet Spock’s gaze.

It was a blank look, and Spock had a _moment_. An irrational fear that Jim would suddenly realize what they had done, and run from the situation with disgust.

But instead he gave Spock a small smile, a hand reaching up to brush an errant lock that clung to Spock’s sweaty forehead.

“ _Hey_ ,” Jim said softly, then pillowed his head on Spock’s chest. He let a hand linger down Spock’s chest, then down to his stomach – a fingertip lightly tracing where the hem bunched up.

“That was fucking _fantastic_.” Jim looked expectantly at him. “Please tell me we’re doing that again?”

Spock’s breath hitched – the mere thought that Jim would wish to do this _twice_? With _Spock_?

He struggled to find his voice, but as Jim’s fingers dipped into his belly button, Spock squirmed. “That would be amenable.”

Jim’s grin was wide and exuberant, and he sat up quickly to kiss his lips.

“Good – _great_.” And then the smile turned wicked. “So, maybe we could go again after…”

Jim looked around, and noticed they were right by the replicator. He stood up on his knees to reach the buttons, and Spock could barely believe what Jim pulled out.

“Maybe again after this piece, yeah?”

As Spock watched the fork bite into the moist carrot cake, topped with mounds of buttercream frosting, he opened his mouth and could hardly say no.  

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Could Never Deny Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/199817) by [rainbowstrlght](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght)




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